


The body burns

by Builder



Series: Heroverse [30]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Steve Rogers, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-08 05:10:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18887821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: “Buck, you had a nightmare.  It was an accident.”  Steve wraps both arms around Bucky’s chest and holds him.  “I could stand to work on my reflexes a little.”It’s meant to be a joke, said with a smile, but it feels like another gut punch.  Self deprecating Steve will always find something to work on.  He shouldn’t have to, though.  And certainly not on Bucky’s account.





	The body burns

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @builder051

Bucky has his gun out before the target gets the chance, but the other guy fires first.  Bucky dodges instinctively and pulls the trigger twice in quick succession.   _Pop pop.  Yell.  Thump._  Then that anguished sound that means the other SHIELD agent has just realized their partner is dead on the pavement.  

The second guy isn’t marked for assassination, so Bucky could leave them be.  Grab a few seconds’ head start, find his bike stashed behind a tree beside the road, then return to the nondescript black van a whole minute earlier than anticipated.  If he’s lucky, his handlers will show their pleasure by leaving him the fuck alone.  If he isn’t… Bucky doesn’t want to think about it.

He does anyway, though, and it makes him mad.  Bucky’s vision pulsates in shades of burgundy and scarlet; he cocks his pistol and lets go another two shots.   _Pop pop.  Yell.  Thump._  A softer thump than last time.  So maybe a woman.  Or just a smaller man.

Disgust rises in Bucky’s chest, displacing the anger and the cold, detached mood that HYDRA’s drilled into him.  He needs to turn around.  He has to go, or he’ll miss his pickup.  Missed pickups mean freezing showers, leather straps flogged over his thighs, hands matting his hair and teeth sinking into the back of his neck.

Bucky cocks the pistol a third time.  He only has one round left, but that’s all he needs.  He drives the barrel into his mouth and doesn’t hesitate.

Only he doesn’t hear the pop.  Bucky wonders if he missed, but that’s stupid.  The gun would still have gone off.  And someone wouldn’t be crouched beside him, petting his arm and clearing his airway.

“Buck, come on, breathe.”  

Bucky tries, but there’s something blocking his throat.  Vomit, he realizes as it spills all over the mattress and puddles against his chest.  He inhales again and chokes.

“Ok, it’s ok.”  Steve slams him between the shoulder blades with enough force to dislodge the dregs of sick, but not quite enough to leave a mark.  Bucky knows what that sweet spot feels like, and he knows he doesn’t deserve it.  It’s been years now since he was with HYDRA, and the mission in the dream may not have even been real.  

But those seem like excuses.  Bucky can’t begin to count the number of assassinations he carried out.  The people he murdered.  For no reason, if the dream is anything to go by.  

“Ok, you’re safe.”  Steve pushes a lock of sweaty hair off Bucky’s forehead and cups his cheek.  “You’re boiling, but you’re safe.”  He rolls the quilt down to Bucky’s waist, the bedroom air turning icy against his damp t-shirt.  Bucky shivers; even his teeth chatter, but he can’t tell if it’s the cold causing the tremor or the other way around.

“N-no,” Bucky chokes, because he doesn’t think he’s heard anything more false in his life.  “Not safe.”  He’s a killer.  A heartless executioner.  No one should be around him, not even Steve.  It’s hard to see in the dark, but one of Steve’s cheekbones looks pink and puffy, a sure sign that he took a metal backhand to the face at least once before he managed to wake Bucky up.

“Yes you are,” Steve says.  He slides in as the big spoon behind Bucky’s trembling frame, supporting and warming and wiping him off all at once.  “The alarm’s still set and everything–”

“No–” Bucky interrupts, but a wet hack forces its way up his throat, and it’s all he can do to prop up on his elbows before he throws up again.  “You don’t…”  He swipes his mouth with the back of his hand.  “I’m… I can…”

“Hurt me?” Steve finishes with what sounds like a sympathetic smile.  “Well, I guess you could.  But you don’t.”

“I did, though…”  Bucky’s voice fractures and breaks, and he cringes at the sour taste of bile sitting like penance on his tongue.  “I hit…”  He’s suddenly so out of breath he can’t force out the _you_.

“Buck, you had a nightmare.  It was an accident.”  Steve wraps both arms around Bucky’s chest and holds him.  “I could stand to work on my reflexes a little.”

It’s meant to be a joke, said with a smile, but it feels like another gut punch.  Self deprecating Steve will always find something to work on.  He shouldn’t have to, though.  And certainly not on Bucky’s account.

“But I…”  Bucky balls up his metal fist, scraping his fingertips hard against the disgustingly wet sheets.  “But I hurt you.”  He tries to imagine what it looks like from an outsider’s perspective, rolling the tape backward from Steve comforting him to him hitting Steve and all the way to him delivering that unnecessary fatal shot.  

Bucky suddenly feels disgusting in a way that has nothing to do with the ache in his gut or the throb in his head.  He wishes the mission in the dream was real, that things had really played out that way.  That way he’d be gone, debts paid, and Steve could move on.  God knows Steve would never do that while Bucky’s still breathing.

“You’re safe, ok?” Steve whispers.  “I’m safe.  You didn’t’ do anything wrong.”

“But I did,” Bucky gasps, struggling to tamp down nausea as he rolls over to face Steve.  “I did 70 years worth of wrong.  And I’m not doing any better.”

“That’s not true, Buck.”  Steve pulls him close and presses an aggressive kiss to his cheek.  “You don’t get a death sentence for one bad night.”

“I should,” Bucky grumbles.  He’s exhausted and seeing stars, but it doesn’t seem like the kind of night for sleeping.  He’s too sick to lie still, but not sick enough to set up camp in the bathroom.  He’s delusional if he thinks Steve will leave him alone, so Bucky lets out a heavy breath and drags his wet lips down Steve’s stubble until his whole face is burning. It only takes a few tense seconds, but it may as well be an eternity.  At least Steve has the sense to keep his mouth shut and wait him out.

“Buck…”  Steve shakes his head an inch to each side.  “Stop talking like that.  I know you’re sad and scared and feeling too much all at once.  I know you’re just spouting off like you used to.  But sometimes you scare me a little.”

Bucky breathes in slowly.  If he was decent, he’d apologize.  If he was really strapped for words, he’d stay silent.  But instead he brushes shaking fingers under Steve’s eye and whispers, “You should get some ice on that.”

 


End file.
